


Limerance

by dweeblet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Awkward Crush, Boys In Love, Cute, Fluff, Happy, Light Angst, M/M, Nature, Original Fiction, Pining, Self-Doubt, Teen Romance, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:27:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dweeblet/pseuds/dweeblet
Summary: “C’mere,” Peter invites, trotting towards the center of the glen. The foliage here twitches with sliding dew, and in the surrounding shade of the woods Winston can see the winking yellow lights of fireflies from a distance. “Sit down with me.”(Commission for Chickin-Nuqqest on DeviantART)





	Limerance

**Author's Note:**

> prompt / desired plot: Maybe,, out star gazing?? Or an amusement park prompt is cute too! Just two boys in love but they dont know it
> 
> (I tweaked the prompt based on the bios you gave so that Winston knows what's up but he's all flustered about it because he doesn't wanna ruin their friendship if Peter doesn't requite. hope you like it!)

“I found someplace really cool,” Peter tells him, leaning very seriously over the coffee-shop table with a disgustingly sweet drink cradled between his forearms. Winston blinks to clear his eye, wrenching his traitorous gaze from the other boy’s grin. The soft pink curve of his mouth is mischievous and warm and earnest in all the ways that make Winston’s legs feel like jello and heart crawl into his throat.

 

Peter is beaming and his dark brows are pulled up into an ardent smile that sets his whole face abask. His whiskey-brown hair falls in burnished waves over his shoulders, halfway tied into a ponytail with a mauve ribbon and spilling out, framing his face with sleek little ringlets. It’s just as unruly as its owner, perfectly tousled and soft enough to touch. Would he notice? If Winston just— 

 

They’re best friends. Nothing more. Jeez.

 

“Please don’t get us in trouble,” he mumbles instead of saying  _ I love you _ . “We’ve already stayed out for the drinks,” Winston points out. “It’s getting late”

 

Peter cocks a brow and stares up with imploring green doe-eyes, smoky basil flecked with spokes of gold that snatch Winston's attention and hold it. They make him feel as though Peter is the one blinking down on the top of his head, not the other way around, and it’s all he can do not to utterly fold beneath that gaze. “C’mon,” he insists, teasing and pleasant. “It won’t take too long, and I promise it’s gonna be awesome.”

 

Winston agrees, if only because he wants to keep looking at Peter’s stupid, perfect face. (Pete has no idea at all, and for that he’s not sure whether to be overwhelmingly grateful or deeply disappointed in that fact. Is it adorable? Or just frustrating?) “Okay,” he aquiesces at length. “Let me pay.”

 

“Are you sure?” asks Peter, in complete earnest that makes Winston’s chest constrict. Shit, he’s adorable. “We could at least go Dutch.” (And,  _ somehow _ , the stupid lovable idiot fails to recognize how  _ romantic _ this is, drinking coffee near sunset at a table for two, bickering lightly over who’s going to pay.)

 

“I’m sure,” he echoes firmly, offering a mild, tender smile. Peter absolutely glows back at him.

 

(Two drinks are inordinately expensive at this dumb hipster coffee shop, but they were tasty and Peter loves it here and Winston would readily pay for fivescore visits if that’s what it takes—)

 

The hair on his neck stands on end when Peter slots their hands together, carefully closing Winston’s pale, bony fingers his own more welcoming grip as though there was nothing else he’d rather be doing, no other hand he’d want to hold.

 

His heart skips a beat (or twenty) as his friend starts leading him away from the square with the cafe and the bus stop that has become a muscle-memory landmark in their daily routine and back towards their high school. Peter takes him across the veritable fen of the football field, splashing in the remnants of late spring rain with a giddy, chiming laugh that draws a smile from Winston’s pursed lips.

 

Winston allows himself to be lead with a smile that he dearly hopes isn’t too patently dreamy, watching the rippling length of Peter’s hair as it swings over his back and catching his frequent over-the-shoulder grins as they pick their way over the muddy field.

 

The grass on the hill is crisp and brisk with dew that tickles his ankles, and the early evening air is just muggy enough to cling to his bare skin. The moon peers down at him from where it drifts towards the peak of its route, a perusing white disk skirted by wispy purple clouds and a thin smattering of stars in the darkening lilac sky.

 

It feels like summer.

 

Peter leads him along the slope to a narrow copse of hickory and silver maple that whispers and sighs at the gentle encouragement of the breeze. The nearest trees are visibly atrophied by the activities of the nearby field, starved by pesticides and trimmed short against the border of the sward, but the deeper they go the lusher the trees become, and their branches seem to lean in and welcome the pair into the woods. Winston’s heart is warmed alongside his hand at the proximity when Peter guides him, dancing, into a glen hemmed by fat bunches of clover and soft periwinkle aster.

 

“C’mere,” Peter invites, trotting towards the center of the glen. The foliage here twitches with sliding dew, and in the surrounding shade of the woods Winston can see the winking yellow lights of fireflies from a distance. “Sit down with me.”

 

His face burns from his nose to his ears. “The ground is wet,” he mumbles, looking away. This place is very pretty, too, but it still can’t quite beat the welcoming radiance of Peter’s open expression. Stupid and romantic and cute.

 

“You can sit in my lap if you wanna,” he offers, and Winston pauses to indulge in a double-take.

 

“Okay,” replies Winston at length, blinking away the stifling heat in his cheeks and the cluster of agitated butterflies in his gut. His pulse quickens as Peter drops, uncaring, into the soft grass despite the damp and frass that dirties it. He pats his thigh invitingly, and Winston can’t move.

 

The moment is broken when Peter laughs, waving him over and all but yanking him into his lap. “Not so bad,” he teases against Winston’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded and smile all too welcoming. “Now look up.”

 

Reluctantly, Winston pulls away from memorizing the skylit slope of Peter’s face, turning an obedient gaze towards the darkening heavens. Molten sunset bleeds through the treetops in buttery smears, painting the striped bounds of the glen in all shades of tawny gold and dazzling salmon. The colors drift down like fog as they sit in amicable silence, steeping the whole glen in hazy warmth.

 

Winston cranes his neck to peer down at his friend. Peter’s brilliant emerald eyes catch the glow of the fireflies in their welcoming shallows, full of unfettered awe and tenderness in equal measure as though this is the first sunset he’s ever witnessed. Winston doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful in his entire life, short though it may thus far be. 

 

(He doesn’t think he ever wants to.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for commissioning me!


End file.
